


I Could Use Somebody

by mugsandpugs



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Aftercare, Condoms, Cunningulus, F/M, First Time, Menstrual Sex, Missionary Position, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Period Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: Period cramps make Wanda grumpy. Lance likes a bossy partner.





	I Could Use Somebody

> [_A moment later, she was curiously touching him in that innocent Wanda way, rubbing an index finger between his eyebrows where baby-fuzz grew. She travelled to his ear, tugging the lobe between thumb and forefinger. He smiled, nosing at her jaw like a dog. "You're weird."_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707266/chapters/32393640)
> 
> [ _"I have been informed of this many times."_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707266/chapters/32393640)
> 
> [ _The tension eased out of him by the bucketful. He snuggled her shoulder, squeezing her around the waist, whuffling at her feathery short and dual-toned hair. He was glad to be holding onto another person, glad for something to be simple._ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707266/chapters/32393640)
> 
> [ _He wondered, idly, if her lips were as soft as they looked..._ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707266/chapters/32393640)

 

 _Shit._ He’d been staring for way too long. Staring at her _mouth_ , which really was a generous curve of lip. She was totally gonna blast him off the sofa and into the wall, and then--

She slid her hand from his ear to curve around his jaw, holding his face. Studying him like she might a particularly interesting insect. Then she leaned in.  _Holy shit!_ The tiny (and ever-shrinking) vestige of sanity in Lance's mind shrilled, before she clumsily pressed that mouth to his. And _wow_ , was she bad at this.

This was an unkind thought. She had no _reason_ to be good at kissing. She’d spent the last God-knew how long of her life locked in a tiny room, wearing a straightjacket. Still, despite the too-hard, ungiving toothiness of it all, Lance got the impression that Wanda had always been different; had always seen the world in her black and white, want-and-don’t-want way. He, therefore, was Wanda’s first kiss, yet he was the only one of them fool enough to feel an ounce of sentimentality for it. For her, it was just another experience.

“Why don’t I feel anything special?” she asked, sounding grouchy after pulling away. She was glaring as though it were Lance’s fault that she hadn’t felt the sparks and chemistry she’d heard about on television; read about in books.

“Because it wasn’t a very good kiss.” If she could be bluntly, _crushingly_ honest all the time, then maybe he could, as well. “I wasn’t ready for it, and you’re about as gentle as a bulldozer. Want me to show you?”

She considered, then nodded.

“Alright. But you can’t attack me if you don’t like it. Remember, you have to use your words when you don’t want to be touched anymore.” There'd been too many incidents when her mood turned on a dime and she’d lashed out at those who’s company she’d just been enjoying.

Her glare deepend. “I know that! Try again.”

He had to trust that she knew what she was asking for. She wasn’t an infant, despite her sometimes childlike mannerisms. She was his age; she was intelligent; and she knew what she wanted.

Lance kissed her properly, soft and hungry. He guided her with his mouth and felt her respond; could almost sense how much she was concentrating, trying to get this right. She startled a little when he brought a hand to her face, stroking her jaw and curling gentle fingers around her ear, and he retreated, wondering if he'd pushed too far. She hadn't invited touching outside of kisses... But a moment later she took his cue and touched his face, too, curiously exploring him as he drew her lower lip into his mouth and suckled, softly.

This elicited an interesting noise, alright. "Touch me more," Wanda said, pulling back, and Lance opened his eyes wide. She couldn't possibly mean--

But she took his hand and brought it to her upper chest, resting it flat against her breastbone, before considering further. "That is to say, only if you want to. If you don't, you are free to stop." She released his wrist as though giving him permission to move away, and it warmed something in Lance's chest. _Sweet girl..._

"I want to kiss you again," Lance confessed, and did just that as he stroked her collarbone with a thumb. Her throat fit neatly into his hand, and there he remained. He brought his free hand to her breast, only for it to be pushed away. When he tried again a moment or two later, she scowled and gave him a firm push. “Do not touch me there.”

He smiled sheepishly, wishing he’d picked up on her meaning the first time around, but grateful she'd remembered to use her words. “Got it.” then, more boldly, “so where _can_ I touch you?”

“Sit up straight,” she commanded, and when he obeyed she climbed onto his lap, her knees on the outsides of his thighs as she knelt and reached for another kiss.

“Oh, this is not a good idea,” he groaned weakly, when her arms wound around his neck. She frowned.

“Are you asking me to stop touching you?” 

“No,” his mouth answered immediately. “You can… you can keep going.”

“Don’t say confusing things, then.” Her kisses resumed.

He noticed immediately when she began grinding on his lap, rubbing her lower body against him in a way that was unmistakable for anything else. It, like everything Wanda did, was unself-conscious; unaware of her own image. She was not moving for his benefit; not to look pretty, not to fulfill a fantasy. She was simply rubbing herself against him. Lance couldn't begin to explain why that _worked_ for him in so many ways.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, his lips still on hers.

“Almost,” was her reply, a little furrow in her brow as she tried to adjust her angle.

“It’d feel better if you took your pants off,” Lance pointed out, and then cringed at how sleazy that sounded. “You don’t have to. Just sayin’.”

“I am aware,” she replied. “Usually I do this with a pillow; not with boys’ legs.”

The thought of Wanda rubbing herself off against a pillow had all of Lance’s blood zooming south. He swallowed loudly, hands settling on her hips. “So why don’t you, then?”

“I am menstruating. I’d get blood on you.”

She was on her period? _Fertile,_ a dim and somewhat creepy corner of Lance’s brain chimed in. He pushed that down hard. “This is gonna sound weird, but I really don’t mind if you get blood on me. I actually think it’d be hot as fuck.”

Wanda blinked at him, inscrutable as ever, and inwardly Lance squirmed. She probably thought he was a total weirdo now; a dirty fucking pervert who--

“Okay.”

She stood up and quickly divested herself of her pants, which were actually Lance’s jeans that she’d stolen some time ago. Then she reached for his knees, tugging them apart, and selected one to straddle. She gripped his shoulders, bowed her head, and got to work humping him properly through. “Fuck,” Lance hissed. It was perhaps the hottest thing he’d ever watched: this girl completely focused on using his body for her pleasure. “Tell me where I can touch you?” he asked-- begged, really; he was so caught up in her spell. He saw a streak of dark blood forming on the leg of his jeans and moaned, his head falling onto her shoulder.

She adjusted for him, her arms wrapping around him in more of an embrace, and resumed her humping. As directed, he returned his hands to her hips. “Can you come like this?” he asked, feeling how warm her cheek was pressed against his. She was panting, if just slightly, her hips rutting incessantly. In response, she released a frustrated sob, eyes squinched tight. That was a no, then.

“Okay,” Lance decided, thinking quickly. He stroked her hair. “Okay, okay, can I just--” With one hand on her back and the other curled around her head, he sat back, laying her down on the sofa, and swallowed at the sight of her wet black panties, her strong thighs gripping him. “Okay, honey.”

Before he could lose his nerve, he cupped her mons in his palm and rubbed in a slow circle, his fingers coming away bloody. The more direct stimulation had her head falling back and, emboldened, he slipped his fingers into the leg of her soaked panties and pulled them back over her pussy to sneak a quick peek; arousal a low and constant throb in him now at the sight of her blood-soaked lips. Using two fingers, he rubbed her slit, slow, and then travelled a finger inside to find her hard little clit. She cried out at that, her back arching.

“More,” she panted through gritted teeth. “Please…”

He gathered up the material of her panties and pulled it tight between her pussy lips, letting the fabric grind her clit before smoothing it out again. When she squirmed, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them all the way down, sliding them down her long legs to leave her bare. What a pretty sight she was. When he realized he’d left a bloody thumbprint on her hip, he couldn’t resist but to touch more wet fingers to her skin; marking her hips, her belly. God, she was like art.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you, okay?” he decided, voice growing lower in his arousal. No girl he’d dated had ever permitted this before. He hadn’t really thought much about it, but blood had never really been a problem for him. It certainly wasn’t putting him off now. In answer, her legs spread widely. He liked and admired this about her: she completely, unselfconsciously asked for exactly what she wanted in any given situation. He didn’t have to worry that she was putting on some coy show of what pleased him.

Sliding said black panties all the way over her bare feet before tossing them aside, he braced a hand on either of her legs, admiring her pussy. She hadn’t shaved-- no surprises there-- and the black hair between her legs grew thick; dark and wiry. Her labia and the tops of her thighs were red and glossy with fresh blood; smeared from his fingers. He licked his lips, and she pushed at his head again, directing him between her legs. “Hurry!”

 _Fuck._ That demand in her voice was doing things to him. So bossy… It was amazing to feel so voraciously wanted. He’d only done this a couple times before, and hadn’t really gotten much feedback of value on how he’d done, so he just dove right in with an Avalanche-brand plan of _fuck it, just go for it!_ in his mind. It didn’t taste as bad as he might have feared. Like blood, certainly-- he’d split his lips; gotten bloody noses enough to recognize the flavor. But it wasn’t overpoweringly so. She tasted more of girl than anything-- musky and strong, her hair scrubbing his cheeks as he licked and lapped at her.

“More,” she panted, grunting her frustration as his tongue swiped teasingly over her clit, and he decided to give it his all.

He spatulaed his hands between her ass and the couch, holding her open for himself as he enthusiastically devoured her whole, like she was a pomegranate that he could scoop every seed from using just his tongue. He knew how well he was doing by the way her hands wrenched his hair; by the volume of the sounds she was making. Her bare feet, braced atop his shoulders, flexed and pushed, toes curling. It was a damn good thing nobody else was home. Sex with Wanda was proving to be a very noisy affair.

“Yes, _there--_ ” Wanda snarled when the flat of his tongue rasped again over the hard nub of her clit, his fingers thrusting rapidly inside her dripping walls, and so he fell to keeping up the stimulation at exactly that rate and intensity. He was rewarded by the sight of her face and neck going completely red; her feet almost painful as they pressed down on him, hands nearly scalping him in her effort to keep his mouth in action. She needn’t have bothered; he was loving this. He had zero intention of going anywhere.

There was a loud cracking noise from the plaster of the walls when she came; some furniture or other he’d have to examine later. He could hardly blame her; when _he_ got excited, it was difficult to keep his powers at bay, too. He just hoped the damage wasn’t too extensive. She bucked into his mouth-- or tried to; he held her in place; sounding like a wild animal as she gasped and gulped and panted.

He’d never in his life felt so needed. A little used? Absolutely, but that only made it hotter. His jaw ached; his scalp was really starting to hurt from all the yanking, but he was too deep in arousal and sensory overload and smug accomplishment to stress about it.

At last she fell still, panting on the sofa, trembling all over. The muscles in her thighs hugging his ears spasmed, and she jolted like lightning when he flicked his tongue experimentally over her swollen clit. The grinding, cracking sound in the other room intensified at the overstimulation before ceasing. “That is e _nough_ ,” she hissed when she had the breath for words, and so he gently extricated himself from the tangle of her legs.

He tried not to squirm too much, again growing aware of his own painful erection. There were condoms in the upstairs bathroom. He imagined himself slipping one on and prising her thighs open once more, sheathing himself inside her. It’d be a quick fuck; sloppy and wet. She wouldn’t even have to move much- just let herself be used as he brought himself off into her slick heat--

No. No; she said she’d had enough, and she meant it. He wasn’t going to push things, no matter how his cock strained and whined in his jeans. He stood, adjusted himself, admired her with some satisfaction as she sprawled, wet and spent and still panting over the sofa, legs hanging wide, inner thighs coated in drying red blood. “Feel better?” he asked smugly, feeling like some sort of vampire as he swiped her blood from his jaw with the back of his hand. Christ; it was _everywhere._

He set to cleaning up-- first his face and hands at the kitchen sink, then wetting a cloth to carefully wipe down her legs and pussy. He tossed both cloth and jeans into the wash, then bent and gathered her, limp as a doll in his arms.

He carried her upstairs, stopping at Rogue’s old room that they were, however slowly, transforming into a place Wanda called home. It was currently a mish-mash of things borrowed from the boys as they waited for her own stuff ordered from catalogues to arrive.

Only as he set her, still half-naked, onto her bed, did he think to ask, “How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t bad for a first time, he didn’t think. She was still shaking, even through her exhaustion. He couldn’t help but feel smug about that; _he_ had caused this; _he_ had provided for her. _He_ was good; was necessary. But she was being awfully quiet... Was she having regrets?

She answered this concern for him almost immediately.  “More,” she whispered, and pulled at the loops of his belt.

"You’re asking me to fuck you, right, darlin’?” he clarified, a little gruffly. She’d taught him herself the importance of saying exactly what you meant. “Is that what you want?” His cock seemed to like that idea a lot; it was a huge relief to pop the button on his pants and give himself more room.

“I want you to be inside of me. I am aching; empty.”

“I’d need to get a condom for that,” Lance said, though it was hard to think; his body wanted to climb on her _now_ and damn the consequences. Still-- he was young, reckless, but not _stupid._

“Hurry!”

He hurried.

Wanda, still half covered by her shirt, propped on her elbows to watch in great interest as he tore the condom wrapper with his teeth, pinched the tip, and rolled the blue band over his thick length. His hands shook.

“You are very large,” Wanda observed, when he planted a knee on the bed and loomed over her, suddenly feeling shy again. Too shy to kiss her. She didn’t state this like she was trying to get him revved up; she merely stated the fact. “Will you fit inside me?”

The more she said that, the harder it was to use his brain. “I’ve fit in girls smaller than you,” he said. She looked neither surprised nor put off by this reveal, so he continued. “You’re really damn wet; all stretched open. But if you don’t like it or something doesn’t feel good, you need to tell me. I’m not a mind-reader.”

She nodded, businesslike, and surprised him by pulling him closer, offering her mouth for another kiss. Lance responded gently, gripping one of her hips for leverage as he slowly, carefully eased inside of her. It felt so good to finally push his cock into something hot and wet and deliciously tight that he stilled, gripping himself at the base and letting out a little shuddery moan of his own. “Fuck, Wanda,” he hissed against her lips, eyes tight, breathing hard onto her collarbone. “Fuck; oh, you feel so good, baby--”

He had not meant to let that ‘baby’ slip; not at all. It was just the force of habit.

“I don’t feel much of anything,” Wanda observed. “Only full.”

He brought a hand between her legs, finding her clit to again lightly tease it. “Oh?” he asked. “Full, huh? Do I fill you up?” He rocked his hips, sliding most of his cock out of her and then pushing it back in. She cooed, a surprisingly soft sound, spreading her legs wide before rising on her knees, instinct leading her to push back onto him. The condom was already streaked with blood, and something about that, combined with the earthy scent in the air, made him hotter.

“Yes,” she agreed, panting. “I am… Full. This is good, this is quite… Could you put your fingers inside me, as well?”

“What, with my dick?”

Rather than answering, she attempted to slide a finger inside of herself. The stretch was enormous; she grunted, almost pained, as she managed to work one in, then let out a relieved sigh. “Better.”

Intrigued at the obscene sight, he pushed her hand out of the way. “Let me. You really like to feel stretched, don’t you sweetheart?”

Wanda whimpered, and Lance was suddenly grateful for the thick band of the condom; had he heard her utter that sound with bare skin in contact, he may have come on the spot.

When he began easing his cock-- and finger-- deeper inside of her, she tilted, resting her forehead on her arms, raising her hips high. Inviting herself to be fucked. Lance was happy to oblige. The words _you’re so pretty_ rose in his mind as he watched her writhe. He held them back. Wanda didn’t care about being pretty; wouldn’t see it as a compliment.

“Do you touch yourself sometimes?” Lance asked, able only to give shallow little shrusts of his hips as he worked to avoid tearing her. “Do you fill yourself up with your fingers and ride them like this?”

“Only sometimes.” Wanda, as always, was blunt as ever. He might have been asking her for the weather forecast. “Usually I prefer to be kneeling.”

“What do you think about when you do it?”

An odd question, but one that genuinely fascinated him nonetheless. When Lance jacked off, he thought about a lot of things. Big-titted prom queens and wide-hipped pop stars. Burly biker men and spindly twinks and just about every flavor of human in between. He didn’t try to understand his hormonal urges; he just went with the flow. Once, even, he’d thought of Todd and his tongue of wonders, but that was a guilty secret he’d take to the grave.

“I don’t… I don’t really think of anything,” she admitted, frowning, as though the question confused her. “I try not to. I just rub until it feels so good I forget about anything bad.”

Huh. Was that weird? She meant it, of course; she was Wanda. She didn’t much lie about anything. “Maybe you’ll think of me, next time?” he suggested, half expecting her to shoot down the idea.

“I suppose I could,” she considered. “Ah, you mean, think about what you’re doing to me right now? Yes, I can-- I can see how that would be--” That flush on her face and chest darkened, just as the warmth in Lance’s groin spread, blooming up in ripples. Oh, his ego _liked_ the idea of her thinking of him with a hand or a pillow between her thighs, late at night…

“I’ll give you something to think about,” he promised, voice low, and carefully slipped his fingers out of her as he bent over her body.

Holding her ass in his big hands, he slowly began pistoning his hips into her pliant body, the wet sounds of a drenched pussy and the ever-present, coppery fug of blood in the air. It was driving him mad; he felt like a wolf on the hunt as he plowed her. He cautiously thumbed at her clit as he rocked, appreciating the slap-slap of skin on skin. “Move your hips, sweetheart,” he instructed, guiding the motion with his hands on her hips until she got the hang of it. “I know you’re tired, but just-- yeah. Meet me. Perfect.”

She seemed to agree; her head fell back, and she moaned again, rapidly building to another climax. Hadn’t he read before that girls came easier when they were all sensitive from their periods?

He replaced his thumb with the meat of his palm, grinding her clit in faster circles, thrusting his hips to match.

"I want to watch your face while you come," he told her, and come she did; cheeks reddening, heels digging into the mattress as she keened and whined; hot liquid bursting from her to soak his groin and thighs. "You a squirter, little girl?" he panted, feeling it near-painfully kick his guts at his arousal.

She was too far gone to respond, so he instead guided her through her second climax, rubbing and touching, bending low to lick the sweat from her throat. He slid his hands underneath her back and hauled her upper body to meet him, mashing her chest against his, loving the silken feel of heavy breasts on his skin as his hips jumped and stuttered.

He spilled inside of her, moaning her name into her multi-pierced ear. He invisioned his come flowing freely, filling her, spilling out of her, and was surprised when he opened his eyes again to see he still wore the bloody condom. His immagination was really getting the better of him. He removed it, careful not to spill, and tied it off before tucking it into the trash bag in the corner, then wondered what to do. He needed a shower more than ever, and the whole house no doubt stank of sex now, but...

"Would you please hold me?"

Well, Lance decided, sliding back into bed to wind his arms around the girl, some things would just have to wait.


End file.
